


Your Happiness

by sunsets



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Honeymoon, M/M, Marriage, Romance, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25208533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsets/pseuds/sunsets
Summary: “Oma Kokichi, would you do me the honour of joining me for this dance?” Saihara asks, putting on his best melodramatic voice. He extends a hand out to Oma, hoping that that he doesn’t take it the wrong way and leave him hanging.The man in question snaps out of his daze, colour flooding his cheeks. Oma looks at Saihara, then at his extended hand, and then back to Saihara. He bursts out laughing.“Wow! Some romantic you are!” Oma’s laughter tapers down into giggles as he gladly accepts the offered hand.---In which Oma Kokichi and Saihara Shuichi try new things while on their honeymoon.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 19
Kudos: 143





	Your Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> This is intended to be a sort of companion piece/prequel to my short fic [Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24644842). No worries if you haven't read it, as this can easily be read as a standalone.

Hazy moonlight filters in through the semi-translucent curtains of their hotel room, bathing both Oma and Saihara in its pale glow, casting shadows along the walls that Oma is currently staring at. He has been mesmerised by them for the past couple of hours or so, carefully watching the way the shadows dance along the moonlit backdrop.

He can’t sleep. He’s been lying awake in their shared bed for a while now. Oma would like to get up, but he can’t in fear of waking Saihara. 

Saihara is directly behind him; he’s deep asleep, clutching Oma close to himself half-protectively and half-possessively, with his long, long limbs wrapping themselves around Oma like vines that stubbornly refuse to loosen their hold for even a second. There is not an inch of space left between them, as Saihara has moulded his form completely over Oma’s as if that’s all he exists for. 

Escaping Saihara’s arms is a far more difficult feat than escaping that nightmare-school that they were all once trapped in ever was, Oma muses to himself. 

Deciding to take the risk, Oma attempts to unwind Saihara’s limbs from where they’re holding him, starting with the arms. Saihara’s hands are holding him at the hip and at the shoulder, and Oma moves his own to gently pry them off of him. With a little of bit of persistence, Saihara seems to loosen his grip, maybe subconsciously aware of Oma’s motives (Oma wouldn’t put it past him). Untangling their legs is a bit easier, and all Oma has to do is swing his feet off the bed.

The solid, warm weight of Saihara always keeps Oma grounded; he’s the tether that stops Oma from drifting too far away, both physically and mentally. Tonight however, is one of those rare cases where Oma’s restlessness has managed to win, and he hates it. He already misses the feeling of Saihara’s body against his, and if he could he would spend his entire life being held by Saihara.

Oma is almost entirely naked, clad only in his obnoxiously designed underwear. He had felt so hot that he also wanted to peel them off along with the rest of his clothes. Unfortunately for him, Saihara had immediately put a stop to that, claiming that it would be indecent of him to prance around naked in a hotel room.

Sure. Oma was never going to buy Saihara’s reasoning, but the way his face had turned such a brilliant shade of red made it way too obvious that it was just a flimsy excuse.

They’re newly-married and Saihara still gets flustered over the idea of seeing him naked, despite the fact that he’s seen him in various states of undress many, many times over the years, and even being the cause of it in at least half those instances. It’s cute.

Well, he can’t walk out into the balcony only in his underwear. Even if it’s late at night, he can’t risk someone seeing him and lodging a complaint. If anything, they should be honoured that they get to see his hot bod in all its glory, but whatever. Not everyone is capable of appreciating fine art.

He quickly scans the room before his eyes land on one of Saihara’s loose-fitting shirts, conveniently folded on the table. Perfect. Oma quietly tip-toes over to it and slips it on.

It’s baggy enough for Saihara to be comfortable and still fit him, but for Oma it’s like the shirt was made for a giant; the arms are far too big, his hands being completely encased by the material and the cuffs reaching his lower thigh, making it difficult for him to manoeuvre his fingers to fasten the buttons. The tail ends of the shirt brush past his knees, and it leaves him with a fluttering feeling in his heart that he can’t quite explain.

The fabric is soft and well-worn, thin and almost transparent from the excessive use. It smells like Saihara; mild soap with hints of roast coffee. It’s the smell of home.

They’re currently several thousands of miles away from home. Oma is not really the type to get homesick; he does on occasion, but it’s not often. Nevertheless, it occurs to him in that moment that he never once missed home because for him, Saihara is home.

He turns and makes his way to the balcony door that has been left slightly ajar; a decision they had both agreed on as the weather is far too warm for either of their liking. Why did they decide on a tropical getaway for their honeymoon again? 

As he slides the door open wider, a warm gust of salty-sweet sea air rushes to greet him, the scent revitalising his senses and helping to ease away the anxiety. He takes a moment to close his eyes as he inhales it all deeply, not caring that his hair is flying in all directions. He then opens his eyes and steps forward.

The view from where he’s standing is quite something; the ocean is stretched wide in front of him, its tides tumbling clumsily onto the shore. The palm trees surrounding the resort sway with the breeze. And of course, the moon hangs above it all; its light blanketing everything it touches with a silver veil, and accompanied by an endless number of shimmering stars.

Oh right, now he remembers why.

Today had been a busy day for them. It had been a flurry of sight-seeing, with new views to take in and new things to experience. It’s no wonder that Saihara instantly passed out the moment they got into bed.

Saihara’s favourite part of the day was their mostly-peaceful evening walk on the beach. They had been talking idly to each other while walking hand-in-hand, watching the setting sun paint the sky in a rainbow of colours and in shades they hadn’t thought was possible before. It was a bonus that the beach had been mostly vacated for the day, with only a few people left milling about.

The only reason why it wasn’t as peaceful as it could’ve been was because Saihara had to keep restraining Oma from knocking down some poor kid’s sandcastle every few yards or so. Oma had tried to rationalise that it’s no big deal, since the children had long left the beach and it’s just what an evil supreme leader such as himself would do, but Saihara couldn’t find it in him to let their hard work be demolished at the hands of his madman husband.

Oma’s favourite part was obviously the amusement park they had been to earlier in the day; the roller coaster especially. Witnessing Saihara trying his best to not lose his lunch had made his entire day. 

It had taken a lot to convince Saihara to join him on the ride, and Oma will never forget the way Saihara held onto him for dear life as they reached the peak before the drop, his clammy and shaking hand tightly clasping Oma’s as he screwed his eyes shut. Oma was about to tease him for it, opening his mouth part-way until they suddenly plunged, turning his would-be taunts into a scream. He will never admit that he had squeezed Saihara’s hand back with just as much intensity.

Afterwards, once they had recovered, they had agreed to have a go at one of those blatantly rigged ring-toss games. Oma has a secret technique up his sleeve, specifically reserved for these kinds of games as he refuses to be outwitted by plebeian scam artists. He was excited to impress Saihara with it. 

However, they had both ended up deciding against it when they saw that the only prizes available were stuffed teddy bears. No, thank you.

Putting their teddy bear woes aside, they moved on to share an ice cream sundae instead; taking turns to feed each other spoonfuls from the same spoon in the most clichéd, they’re-so-obviously-in-love way possible. Judging by the amount of giggles and eye-rolls that had been sent their way, they were pretty sure that everyone within a 10-metre radius of them knew that yes, they are newlyweds and yes, they are on their honeymoon. They couldn’t have cared less.

It’s funny to think that at one point, Saihara had been too shy for any kind of PDA. Even something as small as holding hands used to be out of the question. The years have changed him in some areas, but he still remains the same in others. It amuses Oma to no end.

Smiling to himself, Oma folds his arms on the balcony railing and leans on it. They had missed out on one thing though; the ballroom waltz that had taken place in the evening, in the very same hotel they’re currently staying at. Saihara had suggested it to him, but Oma had turned it down, stating that it was “too corny” for his liking. 

He had lied. He would’ve loved to have gone to that dance, but he had refused; partly because he was embarrassed to admit he was into something so sappy, and partly because he didn’t think it was fair to keep dragging Saihara to all these crowded places all day, knowing that his husband prefers the peace and quiet. It’s why Oma had suggested that they go to the beach instead. Saihara would be upset if he finds out that Oma didn’t go because of that, but that’s why he isn’t going to tell him.

Oma is brought out of his thoughts by an all-too familiar pair of arms wrapping around his middle, drawing him slightly away from the balcony railing and into their tender embrace. 

“Can’t sleep?” Saihara’s sleep-addled voice vibrates through Oma’s very core. He’s leaning into Oma, burying his face into the soft strands of purple hair and adorning equally soft kisses to the crown of his head. 

Oma can feel the beat of Saihara’s heart from where his back is pressed against his chest. He removes his arms from the railing to press further back into Saihara’s hold to feel it more closely. 

He’s already committed the rhythm to memory, but he’ll never pass up an opportunity to feel Saihara’s beating heart, because there was once a time when he thought he would never be able to feel it again.

“Mmm…” Oma hums in response, too busy soaking in the feeling of Saihara to articulate a proper reply. 

Saihara takes Oma’s left hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. 

“You wanted to go to that waltz, didn’t you?”

Oma stiffens at that. Direct and to the point, just as expected from a world-class detective. Why did he ever think he could get away with that lie?

Saihara has definitely noticed the change in Oma’s demeanour and steps back slightly, turning Oma around in his arms so that they’re finally facing each other. 

Trying his hardest to avoid direct eye contact, Oma averts his eyes, wanting to look at anywhere but at Saihara right now. Being caught red-handed with his lies is normally not a big deal for him; it’s just daily routine at this point. But lying to Saihara about his own wants is something else. He doesn’t want Saihara to feel like he’s being left in the dark, or that he’s not competent enough to keep him happy.

The thought of Saihara feeling that way makes Oma’s stomach drop. It’s what’s been keeping him awake this whole time.

Long fingers comb through Oma’s hair, tucking away the fly-away strands from his face. They come to rest on his cheek, the thumb gently rubbing soothing motions on the skin below his eyes, the gesture getting Oma’s attention. 

He finally musters up the courage to look at Saihara. To his surprise, Saihara looks neither upset or angry like he had expected. Rather, he looks concerned and slightly confused. It’s that expression he has when he’s waiting for Oma to make the next move, not wanting to get ahead of himself with his deductions to give Oma a chance to say something.

Saihara’s hair looks like it’s part of the night sky itself, with the dark blue hues blending into each other. Where the sky ends and where Saihara begins, Oma isn’t sure. But what he is sure about is that he should tell his husband the truth.

“Yeah… I did.” A soft whisper, almost blown away into the wind by how featherlight the sound is.

He braces himself for the hand to leave his face, but it doesn’t. Instead, Saihara brings his other hand to fully cup Oma’s face.

“I know you were thinking about me, Kokichi. Thank you,” Saihara smiles, his tone understanding and warm, “but you don’t need to give up what you want for my sake. I have no problem doing whatever you want, if it makes you happy.”

Because your happiness is also my own; that had been a line from Saihara’s marriage vows. Now the sentence hangs in the air between them, unspoken but the memory of it echoing clearly in both their minds.

Oma has been rendered speechless, his throat feels like it’s closing up and his eyes are stinging, his vision blurring from unshed tears. He doesn’t have time to think too much about it as Saihara swiftly closes the distance between them, pressing a firm kiss to his lips. 

The contact is gentle and comforting; it’s Saihara’s way of reassuring him that everything is alright, and that Oma has nothing to worry about. They are married now, after all; they’ve made a promise to spend the rest of their lives with each other, and no matter what may come their way, they will deal with it together, as they have done so in the past. 

Oma suddenly feels foolish to have been so worried over something so tiny, especially when compared to what they’ve had to overcome to get to this point.

Reaching up to wrap his arms around Saihara's neck, he returns the kiss, the heat from their lips melting away the last of his anxiety. He can feel Saihara’s smile widen, relieved that Oma is feeling better. 

As they pull apart, Saihara rests his forehead on Oma’s, gazing at him lovingly through half-lidded eyes. Oma feels like he’s stuck in a trance, having been hypnotised by Saihara kissing him.

“You know… I don’t see why we can’t do it now,” Saihara suggests, his smile turning sly. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the shine bright enough to rival the stars themselves. It’s a look that’s innate to Oma, but rarely seen on Saihara. 

Now he really does look like he’s the night sky.

“Do…do what?” Oma questions, still in a daze from the kiss.

Saihara is still smiling as he takes a few steps backwards to bow down in an almost exaggerated manner.

“Oma Kokichi, would you do me the honour of joining me for this dance?” Saihara asks, putting on his best melodramatic voice. He extends a hand out to Oma, hoping that that he doesn’t take it the wrong way and leave him hanging. 

The man in question snaps out of his daze, colour flooding his cheeks. Oma looks at Saihara, then at his extended hand, and then back to Saihara. He bursts out laughing.

“Wow! Some romantic you are!” Oma’s laughter tapers down into giggles as he gladly accepts the offered hand.

Saihara only grins as he tugs Oma close to him, fully joining their hands and bringing his free hand to hold him delicately at the upper back. Oma huffs.

“Hey! What makes you think _you’re_ leading?” he complains, but he still complies and places his hand behind Saihara’s shoulder. 

“I’m sure even a supreme leader such as yourself deserves a break from leading once in a while, don’t you think?” Cheeky. Oma has really been rubbing off on him. Oma doesn’t know whether to feel annoyed or proud. He settles for proud.

“So…shall we begin?” Saihara is a true gentleman and Oma is reconsidering if he should’ve gone for annoyed instead.

“Come on Shumai! We don’t have all ni— Woah!” Oma doesn’t get to finish as Saihara extends their clasped hands and begins the dance, causing him to stumble and fall face-first into Saihara's chest.

“…A warning would’ve been nice." Oma buries his head into Saihara’s chest, beet red from embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” Saihara laughs, his chest trembling where Oma is currently hiding his face, slowing himself down to allow Oma to keep up. 

Oma knows for certain that Saihara is not sorry at all, the liar.

Eventually, they slowly fall into a rhythm; swaying backwards and forwards, to and fro, spinning together in circles, with the sounds of the night as their only guide. 

Neither of them fully understands how a waltz is supposed to work, but improvising is part of the fun, even if they end up tripping over each other’s feet at times.

Nevertheless, Oma is entranced by it all; the way Saihara is taking the lead, being both gentle and firm with his movements. The way the breeze seems to be moving in tandem to their steps, like it also wants to have a part in their dance. The way the moonlight seems much brighter than before, illuminating them both in a way a fancy chandelier never could. 

Saihara was always beautiful, but in the moonlight, he looks downright other-worldly; god-like, even. It takes Oma’s breath away.

This definitely beats some stuffy, overcrowded hotel hall for sure.

Saihara has got that twinkle in his eye again. The sly smile returns and he’s gazing intently into Oma’s eyes, like he’s hatched some devious plan but this time, he’s kind enough to give Oma a warning before he executes it. They really have been spending too much time around each other, huh?

Oma lifts a brow in question. Before he can open his mouth to ask, Saihara’s hand moves from his back to wrap his arm around Oma's hips, lifting him off the balcony floor and twirling him through the air.

Oh. He really has got to stop letting Saihara get away with this.

Oma, having been caught off-guard yet again, can’t stop the involuntary squeal of delight from leaving his lips. The ends of Saihara’s shirt flutter in a perfect arc around his legs, reminiscent of how an actual ballgown would. The realisation makes his face burn up and his knees buckle. 

He thinks he can hear Saihara laughing again but he’s not too sure, as the sound of the blood rushing to his head is almost deafening. Nice to know the maniac is taking joy in his suffering.

There is too much happening for his poor heart to handle. Although he’s mad at Saihara for doing this to him, he’s pretty thankful that his husband is still holding him, otherwise he would just be a puddle on the floor by now. 

With Oma’s feet now firmly planted on the balcony’s surface, Saihara comes to a stand-still, looking kind of sheepish, like he can’t believe he actually pulled that off.

Oma pouts.

“Wah! No fair! Shumai keeps trying to mess with me! What kind of a husband are you?!” he wails, pretending to be upset when really, he’s just trying to get his heart back under control.

Of course, Saihara just sees this as the theatrics that it is, but he still tries to comfort Oma regardless. 

“Kokichi…” he whispers, as if Oma’s given name holds all the secrets of the universe. As expected, that immediately puts a stop to Oma’s antics as he becomes silent. Saihara lets go of Oma’s hand to wrap him in a hug, with Oma returning it without hesitation.

“I didn’t tell you to stop…” Oma mumbles into Saihara’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to continue?”

A yawn. “Of course!” Oma exclaims, pretending he didn’t just yawn at all.

Saihara pulls his head back to give him his best I’m-not-buying-that-at-all look.

“What?” Oma asks, affronted.

“It’s late and you’ve been up for longer than I have. I think we should go back to bed.”

“No way! You were sweeping me off my feet with your dancing, Mister Detective! You were _sooo_ suave, I don’t want to stop!” Oma is both teasing him and telling the truth. Saihara can feel a headache coming and he closes his eyes.

“Kokichi…” Saihara starts, but he stops when he feels the weight of Oma go slack in his arms, his head abruptly bumping into Saihara’s shoulder. 

Did he seriously just pass out while standing up?

Saihara shakes his head, exasperated but there’s a fond smile on his lips.

He lifts Oma up for the second time that night, carrying him back into their room and shutting the balcony door behind them. Quietly as he can, he deposits Oma on his side of the bed and slides in behind him, spooning him again like had been doing earlier.

“Goodnight, Kokichi,” Saihara whispers as he leans over to kiss Oma’s forehead.

Before drifting off to sleep, Saihara takes a mental note to search for nearby ballroom dancing classes once they get back. He’s in no rush though, and he doesn’t think Oma is either.

After all, they’ve got a whole lifetime together ahead of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Oma may be a sap but I am the Ultimate Sap for writing this. Thanks for reading!


End file.
